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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 Narrow Escape

  Chapter 2 Movie Magic

  Chapter 3 Close Call

  Chapter 4 Life Cast

  Chapter 5 First Encounters

  Chapter 6 Decomposing

  Chapter 7 Windfall

  Chapter 8 Mistaken Identity

  Chapter 9 Dead Run

  Chapter 10 Casting the Villain

  Chapter 11 Screen Credit

  Chapter 12 Burned

  Chapter 13 The Big Score

  Chapter 14 Shooting Script

  Chapter 15 A Hardy Hello

  Chapter 16 Face-Off

  Chapter 17 Opening Night

  About Franklin W. Dixon

  NARROW ESCAPE

  1

  FRANK

  I TRUDGED FORWARD AS BAYPORT burned around me. Draped in tattered clothing, I was part of a long line of refugees who looked beaten and hopeless shuffling through the destruction. I felt the heat from flames erupting from storefront windows. Blackened and wrecked vehicles littered the street and sidewalks. The dreary procession veered around a smoldering upturned delivery truck in the middle of the boulevard.

  I couldn’t believe how my once-beautiful downtown Bayport had been transformed into a postapocalyptic wasteland. Just a week ago, everything was normal. Winslow Pharmacy’s huge plate-glass windows were intact instead of in shattered pieces all over the sidewalk. The Dollar Hut was full of shoppers and without flames erupting from the front doors. Sickly sweet instrumental music filled the air in Sal’s Diner rather than the buzzing of downed electrical wires. All this mayhem happened in just a short week. Right after they came to town.

  “Unreal,” whispered my brother, Joe, as he lumbered along next to me. His blond hair was almost black, and his face was covered in soot and ash. Like everyone else, Joe wore ripped, threadbare clothing. “I never thought I’d see Bayport like this.”

  “No kidding,” I murmured.

  I glanced around at the long line of refugees, many of whom I knew. I spotted some of my classmates and friends, including Eric Watts, Amanda Paul, and Hector Cruz. Even my chemistry teacher, Mr. Watson, wore a torn and stained blue blazer. Mrs. Sally Gertz, owner of Sal’s Diner, didn’t even look up as she passed her smoking restaurant.

  All of a sudden we heard a scream.

  Something was happening at the back of the procession. Then, another scream. This one was closer. Everyone picked up the pace. I looked back to see a commotion in the distance. The people at the end of the line were pushing forward, running from something.

  “You think we’ll see them from here?” asked Joe.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. My stomach knotted with excitement. I knew I was supposed to be frightened, but part of me wanted to see our pursuers, couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of them.

  More screams, even closer. The sounds of terror were mixed with primal grunts and growls. Everyone around me moved faster, and I found I had to jog to keep up with the pack. Yet I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder for a glimpse of the creatures terrorizing them. Terrorizing us!

  This time I caught flashes of them. Not so far behind us I saw biting teeth and skeletal claws swiping at the crowd. It was a good thing I looked back.

  “Oh!” cried Mrs. Gertz as she stumbled and fell to the ground.

  I spun around and pushed against the charge of frightened people. All the while the screams and growls grew louder. When I reached Mrs. Gertz, I slipped behind her to shield her from the oncoming crowd. The screams surrounded us, and the rush tripled to a panicked stampede. Grabbing her arms, I helped the woman to her feet.

  “Thank you, Frank,” she said with a smile. Then her eyes focused on something over my left shoulder. She shrieked and then dashed into the raging river of refugees.

  Something clamped onto my left shoulder. I spun around to find myself face-to-decomposing-face with . . . a zombie!

  Milky-white eyes stared back at me through pronounced eye sockets. Gray skin stretched over bony cheekbones and pulled away from grinning yellow teeth. Black liquid oozed over its bottom lip as its mouth opened wide, ready to take a bite.

  I felt another one grasp my right arm. It jerked me away just as the first undead creature lunged forward. I stumbled away from the first zombie and spun to confront the second. But luckily, it wasn’t a zombie—just Joe.

  “You want to be a zombie snack?” asked Joe.

  “No way!” I replied.

  I stumbled into a run as Joe and I followed the fleeing refugees. A glance back showed a horde of the undead in pursuit. They moved faster than I expected; a few almost kept pace with the escaping mass of Bayport citizens.

  This was amazing! Despite the chaos, I couldn’t help smiling with delight.

  A loud burst of static filled the air. It was followed by a tinny voice amplified over an electronic megaphone.

  “And . . . cut!”

  MOVIE MAGIC

  2

  JOE

  I SHOOK MY HEAD AND chuckled. Here we were, trapped in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, and my brother was grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning.

  “You’re supposed to be scared for your life,” I told Frank. “They’re going to kick you off the movie if you keep breaking character like that.”

  “I know, but this is just so unreal,” Frank said.

  I couldn’t help but grin as well. I clamped a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “We’re in a real Hollywood zombie movie, bro!”

  Let me start by saying that the Hardy brothers aren’t movie stars in any remote sense of the term. Sure, I played a small part in the school musical last year. I can tell you how everything is up to date in Kansas City (even though the play was called Oklahoma!—go figure). But no, acting isn’t our thing.

  Now, solving mysteries—that’s a different story. I suppose we’ve done a little acting during some undercover work in the past. After all, we’ve been working cases since we were eight (me) and nine (Frank).

  Luckily, there was just made-up movie mayhem here. And even though Frank and I don’t always agree, it didn’t take much to talk him into spending our spring break working on a zombie movie.

  “Okay, Bob, save the fire and smoke,” squawked the voice on the megaphone.

  “Copy that!” shouted a voice from behind a building. Soon after, the smoke stopped pouring from the rooftops. The sparks ceased inside Sal’s Diner. The flames in the other stores and wrecked cars died right down. All part of the movie magic!

  The man with the megaphone was Bill Daines, the first assistant director, or first AD. The thin, bearded man aimed the megaphone toward the crowd of extras. “That looked great, everyone. We’re going to make a few adjustments and then go again.”

  “How many times are we going to do the same thing?” asked Hector.

  “Welcome to show business,” muttered a passing crew member.

  Bill pushed through to the center of the extras. “Excuse me, ma’am. Sally, is it?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Gertz answered.

  “I saw you fall. Are you okay?” he asked.

  Mrs. Gertz chuckled and waved him away. “Oh, sure. I just tripped over my own feet.”

  “Well, it looked great,” Bill said. “And if you don’t mind doing it again, Josh wants to feat
ure it in the movie.”

  We all looked over toward “video village.” That’s what movie people called the group of chairs where the director and producer sat and watched the action on a bunch of video monitors. Josh Biehn, the director, sat in one of the chairs. He pulled a strand of long hair away from his eyes, grinned, and gave Mrs. Gertz a thumbs-up.

  She beamed. “I can do it as many times as you want.”

  Daines laughed. “Just a couple more times.” He turned to Frank. “And the way you helped her was good too. Do that again.”

  “Uh, sure, Mr. Daines,” said Frank.

  “No misters here, son,” he said. “Call me Bill.”

  After he moved on to some other refugees, Amanda patted Mrs. Gertz on the shoulder. “You’re going to be a star, Mrs. Gertz.”

  “What about me?” I asked. “I saved Frank from becoming a zombie snack.”

  Eric crossed his arms and stroked his brown goatee. “I don’t know, dude. I wasn’t feeling it. I think you should go back to acting school.”

  “I think he’d be a better zombie,” Frank said. “Less acting skill needed.”

  Amanda smiled. “We’ll see tomorrow.”

  That’s right; this movie job was going to get even sweeter! Not only were Frank and I getting paid to be extras in a crowd scene, we would also get to be zombies ourselves! Tomorrow we would report to the makeup department to have our faces cast for the masks that would complete our zombie transformation.

  Being a science geek, Frank was excited to learn what chemicals they used to cast our faces and create the makeup. In the past, he had always been the one to make molds of footprints or tire tracks while we were working a case. Now he would get to see what kind of equipment the professionals used. Of course, there was another reason Frank was excited about being in the movie.

  Hector glanced around. “Is Chelsea Alexander here yet?”

  That was the reason.

  “I saw a call sheet,” Frank reported. “She’s not scheduled to be on set until tomorrow.” The call sheet was the daily schedule given to all the crew members.

  “You can trust Frank on that intel,” I said. “He’s had a crush on Chelsea since Arithme-Trek.”

  “Aw, come on,” Frank said, turning red.

  “What’s Arithme-Trek?” asked Eric.

  “Only where Chelsea Alexander got her start,” Amanda replied. “Before the huge movies and even the reality show, when she was little she played a small part on a kids’ educational TV show.”

  “It was kind of like Star Trek,” I explained. “Except this starship was on a mission to explore strange new math problems.”

  Eric raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Amanda laughed. “Totally true.”

  I tapped my chin and looked up. “Now, what was her character’s name again?”

  “Lieutenant Fraction,” Frank mumbled.

  Everyone burst into laughter. “Let me guess—she was in charge of . . . fractions?” asked Eric.

  “Oh yeah,” I agreed. “And Frank nerded out over that show every day after school.”

  “Hey, I was ten years old,” Frank said. “And I liked math!”

  “And Chelsea Alexander,” I added.

  A sharp feedback squawk let us know that Bill was about to speak over the megaphone again. “Okay, everyone. Back to one.” That signaled all the extras to return to the place where they had started the scene. “We’re going again. Bob, let’s light it up!”

  “Copy that!” a voice shouted. Suddenly smoke billowed from the rooftops and fire erupted from the storefronts and wrecked cars. All the extras moved to their original positions.

  We ended up doing the scene only one more time. Just as before, Mrs. Gertz fell and Frank helped her to her feet. This time the zombies didn’t make it to us in time, so I didn’t get to save him. That was okay with me. I was really looking forward to being a zombie myself soon.

  After that scene, they released the extras for the night, but Frank and I decided to stay and watch as they filmed more. The next scene took place atop the roof of Bayport’s old savings and loan building. The four-story brick building was one of the oldest in town. It even had one of those metal fire escape stairs bolted to the outside. I guess that’s why the director chose that location; from what I could tell, the scene was going to take place on the rickety stairs.

  “Excuse me, Bill,” I said as the first AD walked by. “What’s going to happen here?”

  Bill’s eyes lit up. “In this scene, a group of survivors climb down the fire escape. As the last one leaves the roof, a zombie lunges at him, and the survivor leaps off the roof and falls four stories down.” He pointed to a large air bag being inflated on the sidewalk below. “It’s going to be a very cool stunt.”

  “And we have front-row seats,” Frank said, pointing to the inflating air bag.

  Several crew members adjusted the white, square-shaped bag. It would stand at over five feet tall when fully inflated. I had seen one on television once, so I knew how it worked. When a stunt person landed in the center of the bag, large flaps on the side would open up, releasing some of the air and breaking the performer’s fall.

  Frank and I watched as they set up the shot. It seemed like it took forever. When the lights and cameras were finally in place, the stunt performers rehearsed the scene on the roof. Unfortunately, we couldn’t hear what was being said from our position. Finally Josh, the director, walked out of the building and sat down in video village.

  “Okay, lock it up! Quiet all around!” shouted Bill. “Picture’s up!”

  The stuntmen and stuntwomen walked to the center of the roof and out of view.

  Bill held a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Roll camera.”

  “A camera, speed,” said the cameraman on the ground.

  “B camera, speed,” came a voice over the walkie-talkie. It must’ve been the cameraman on the rooftop.

  “And . . . action!” shouted the director.

  Atop the roof, the group of survivors came into view. They reached the edge and immediately climbed onto the metal fire escape, their faces contorted into expressions of fear as they descended. The last survivor entered with a zombie close behind. He leaped off the roof and sailed over the edge of the railing, catching the handrail and dangling over the air bag four stories below.

  Suddenly the air was filled with the shriek of twisting metal. My heart pounded as I realized the top of the fire escape was coming away from the bricks.

  The rickety structure began to fold as the top half leaned away from the side of the building. The group of men and women on the bottom half of the stairs were safe. However, the top portion angled so that it was perpendicular to the brick wall. Now, instead of the stuntman dangling directly over the air bag, he dangled several feet past it. The man struggled to cling to the rusty metal railing.

  “He’s not going to land on the bag,” Frank whispered.

  My brother was right. If that stuntman lost his hold on the railing, he would tumble straight toward the hard sidewalk below. A fall from that height would kill him. From the way the man fought to keep his grip, it looked as if he didn’t have long to live.

  CLOSE CALL

  3

  FRANK

  CUT! CUT!” SHOUTED JOSH. THE director sprang from his chair and ran to the edge of the bag.

  “Someone get him down from there!” Bill shouted into the walkie-talkie.

  Joe and I rushed forward with the rest of the crew. We all watched helplessly as the stuntman held on for his life.

  Joe turned to one of the crew members. “Can we push the air bag under him?”

  The blond girl with the clipboard kept staring up at the dangling man. “I don’t think you can move it once it’s inflated.”

  “We can try!” I said, running closer to the bag. I grabbed one of the straps and pulled hard. It didn’t even budge. “Come on!” I shouted to anyone who would listen.

  Joe was already there, pulling a nearby
strap. Soon we were joined by other crew members. With everyone pulling, the large bag began to move.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Joe said, looking up.

  I followed his gaze and saw the stuntman’s right hand lose its grip. He hung by his left hand while his right hand reached underneath his tattered coat. He pulled out a black strap with a metal oval ring at one end. I recognized the ring at once; it was a carabiner, the same kind of metal clip used in mountain climbing. The man reached up and tried to snap the carabiner onto the metal railing. His face strained as he reached and missed.

  I pulled harder at the bag’s strap. Everyone seemed to. In fact, by this point, three sides were covered with people. Inch by inch, the giant air bag slid closer to the stuntman’s new drop zone.

  The man growled as he swung the carabiner one more time. The carabiner struck the railing but didn’t attach. His left hand, white and trembling from strain, finally gave out. The stuntman flailed his arms and legs as he fell.

  I struggled to pull harder, but the bag didn’t budge. For the second time that day, Joe pulled me out of harm’s way. We fell backward just as the man hit the bag.

  Well, most of him did. His body slammed against the very edge of the bag. Since he didn’t land in the center, the bag didn’t deflate completely. That plus the odd angle made him bounce off to the side and slam against the hard sidewalk. I cringed as I saw his arm smack against the cement.

  We joined the crowd as everyone swooped in around the moaning stuntman.

  “Watch your backs!” shouted a voice behind us. “Medics coming through!”

  A man and a woman wearing orange jackets pushed through the crowd. Everyone backed off to give them room as they began working on the injured man.

  The director rushed in. “Aw, man, Cody. Are you okay?”

  The stuntman grimaced with pain and anger. “Does it look like I’m okay?” He grunted as the medics braced his neck and rolled him onto a backboard. “I told you that was a stupid stunt,” he growled. “Not enough payoff for the risk.”